Decrypted

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Rias?” She rested her hand on his back.

  He managed nothing more than short, pained gasps.

  Suspicion lifted her gaze. The professor had stopped and he watched, his eyes cold. Tikaya jumped to her feet, ready to flatten the man with a punch.

  He lifted a hand, and she crashed into an invisible wall.

  “Stop,” Tikaya demanded.

  A finger on Yosis’s other hand twitched. Rias sucked in a deep breath and knelt back. He closed his eyes for a long moment and collected himself.

  “You will refrain from discussing such topics, foreigner,” Yosis told Rias.

  “Such topics?” Tikaya said. “Archaeology and math? By Akahe’s Eternal Spirit, what’s befuddling your mind?”

  The professor’s cool gaze rotated toward her. “Ms. Komitopis, after so long amongst the Turgonians, you are not above suspicion. Do not incriminate yourself by meddling.”

  She curled her lip and swore at him, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it in a language he would understand.

  Rias got to his feet, picked up the bicycle, and nodded for Tikaya to lead on. All traces of his humor—his personality—were gone, hidden behind a face that might have been carved from stone.

  CHAPTER 4

  The homestead came into view, the buildings nestled beneath ancient palm trees near a bluff overlooking the sea. Made from cob and tigerwood, the main house rose two stories with several cottages around it. Wood lanais wrapped each building, and breezeways ran between the structures. Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, bringing the scent of cinnamon-vanilla yams along with the tantalizing aroma of pork slow cooking in the earth oven.

  “That smells fantastic, doesn’t it?” Tikaya smiled at Rias, though it was strained. Guilt over the professor’s attack rode the bicycle with her.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “My mother’s a good cook.”

  Rias glanced back at Yosis, probably wondering what other topics would result in punishment. “Are you?” he asked her quietly, lips quirking up in a brief smile.

  The question served as a reminder of how little they knew about each other in a domestic sense. Without a life-or-death adventure to bond them, would he remain interested?

  “Didn’t you say you were impressed with the raccoon kabobs I made on our trek down from the mountains?” Tikaya asked.

  “Hm. Impressed with the creativity, I think I said.”

  “Not the flavor? I’m better when seasonings are available.”

  A small figure darted across the path in front of them. Tikaya braked, skidded, and hit a rock. She pitched sideways into the grass, landing in an ungainly heap.

  Rias was at her side before she sat up.

  “Apologies,” he said.

  “For what?” Tikaya asked. “You’re not the one who ran across the path in front of me.”

  “Isn’t it my duty to catch you when you trip or otherwise try to hurl yourself to the ground?” Rias had caught her stumbling quite a few times on their frozen trek in the Turgonian frontier lands. “The bicycle slowed me down.”

  Accepting his hand, Tikaya rose to her feet. “I was hoping I’d be less likely to do that back in my homeland.” She raised her voice. “Lonaeo, was that you?”

  Movement stirred the tall grass on one side of the road. A slight curly-haired boy slipped out from the cover. He carried a jar and a butterfly net. His green eyes bulged when they locked onto Rias. Lonaeo stumbled backward, tripped on his bare feet, and landed on his rump, his gear flying free.

  “Must be a relative of yours,” Rias said.

  “Because we look similar, or because he tripped like I always do?” Tikaya asked.

  “Indeed so.” Rias’s eyes glinted.

  “Tikaya!” Lonaeo climbed to his feet and hurled himself at her for a hug. “You’re alive!”

  The boy’s momentum almost propelled her onto her own rump, but Rias steadied her with a hand to her back. Yosis had stopped a few yards away, and he waited with his notepad on his thigh.

  “I’m alive,” Tikaya managed around a lump in her throat. Finally, someone was greeting her as if she’d actually been missed. “Rias, this is one of my nephews, Lonaeo. He’d rather hunt insects than do chores.”

  “Lon-a-e-o?” Rias asked, his tongue awkward around the extra vowels. “As to the rest, who wouldn’t?”

  Lonaeo sneaked a peek at Rias beneath Tikaya’s armpit. “Are you a joratt?”

  Tikaya winced at the racial slur, one derived from the particularly thickheaded gorillas of the southern steppes, primates noted amongst ethologists as being particularly brutal in the way they mated and defended their territory. “Don’t use that term, please.”

  “Grandpa does.”

  “Grandpa’s mouth is even uglier than his hammertoes.”

  “I’m Turgonian, yes,” Rias told the boy without any hint that the term bothered him.

  “Is it true that you kill babies that are born weak or deformed?” Lonaeo asked. “Because they’re not strong enough to be warriors?”

  Lonaeo had been born prematurely and was still small for his age. Tikaya glanced at Rias, wondering if the boy would have been sacrificed if he’d been born in Turgonia.

  “Not so much any more,” Rias said. “That’s an old custom from a harsher time.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” Lonaeo asked. “Or Tikaya? Or Grandma?”

  Rias crouched so his eyes were level with the boy’s. “No.”

  “Then why are you here? Joratts, I mean Turgs only come here to kill people.”

  “Sorry, Rias,” Tikaya said, releasing Lonaeo, “he’s only seven. With four years of war, he didn’t know a time when your people were just traders who passed through.”

  “I’m here to visit,” Rias told Lonaeo. “That’s all.”

  “Oh. Want to see my red-wing speckled butterfly?” Lonaeo darted to the jar he’d dropped.

  Professor Yosis sighed, a bored expression on his face. Tikaya was tempted to take a good long time examining her nephew’s find, but her father would be waiting for Telanae.

  “A fine specimen.” Rias nodded at the jar as Lonaeo displayed the butterfly.

  “The red-wing speckled is a skipper,” Lonaeo explained. “A small butterfly that skips from flower to flower. You can tell by the big eyes, see, and how its wings fold up when it’s at rest.” He opened his mouth, probably readying himself to launch into a long lecture.

  “Does your mama know you’re drilling air holes into the lids of her good canning jars?” Tikaya asked.

  Lonaeo blushed. “Maybe.”

  “I won’t tell her if you help us find Telanae. Father needs her healing skills up at the pumping house. Did you hear the explosion?”

  “Explosion?” Lonaeo scratched his head. “Maybe. I dunno. I was busy chasing my butterfly.” He brightened. “I know where Telanae is though. The tide’s out, and she’s clamming at the beach. I’ll get her!”

  “Tell her to go to the pumping house!” Tikaya called after him.

  Lonaeo acknowledged her with a wave.

  “He’ll talk about bugs for hours if you let him,” she told Rias.

  “Burble on about his passion, you mean? Sounds like another sure sign he’s a relative of yours.”

  “I guess I can’t deny that.”

  Tikaya walked her bicycle toward the main house’s lanai, with Rias matching her pace. Several exterior walls housed floor-to-ceiling wooden shutters, many standing open to invite in the breeze. Inside the house, dishes clanked and cabinet doors thumped.

  Tikaya took a deep breath and headed for the front stairs.

  Before they reached the door, a woman walked out wearing a sleeveless floral dress that showed more leg than most bathing suits. Cousin Aeli. Tikaya’s reaction was halfway between a smile and a wince. She was, of course, glad to see all her relatives, but Aeli did grate at times, perhaps more so because she’d been a promising anthropology student before deciding to become the town floozy.


  “Tikaya.” Aeli flung her arms wide and hopped down the stairs, bosom bouncing, to hug her. “They said you’d be here tonight. How wonderful. You look good too. Lost a few pounds, did you? Haven’t I always told you an adventure would do you good? And this is the Turgonian who brought you home?” Her eyes lit with interest.

  Standing shirtless, Rias did make for an interest-inspiring spectacle. When Tikaya had first met him, he’d been half-starved and more bone than muscle, but he had filled out in the last couple of months, and his weeks shoveling coal on the steamer had left him more fit than ever.

  Knowing Aeli couldn’t breathe without flirting, and wouldn’t be cowed by the grisly reputation of Turgonians, Tikaya was tempted to step in front of Rias and growl, “Mine.” She kept her response to, “He’s Turgonian, yes.”

  “Is it true what the police said? That he’s the Black Scourge of the Seas himself?” Aeli released Tikaya and faced Rias, eyeing him up and down like a particularly delectable morsel on the dinner table.

  “I just call him Rias,” Tikaya said. “It’s easier on the tongue.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is. Easy on the tongue that is.” Aeli winked.

  Tikaya could have kissed Rias for the fact that he was watching her instead of Aeli, despite the fact that she was going out of her way to thrust her breasts out and flip her blonde locks. He wore an am-I-supposed-to-humor-this-woman-because-she’s-related-to-you-or-can-I-ignore-her expression.

  Aeli didn’t notice—or perhaps she noticed but wasn’t deterred by—his lack of interest. She strolled up to Rias and leaned against his arm. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he? Does he know any Kyattese?”

  “Yes, he does,” Rias said.

  Surprise flickered across Aeli’s face, but she recovered quickly and smiled. “Wonderful.” She clasped his bare forearm. “Are you coming to dinner?”

  Rias lifted his brows in Tikaya’s direction.

  “Yes.” Tikaya removed Aeli’s hand so Rias could back away a step. “He is.”

  “Excellent. If my uncle won’t let you stay here after dinner, you can come see me tonight. My place is just up the beach.” Aeli pointed past Tikaya without seeing her.

  “Wouldn’t it be crowded there?” Tikaya asked. “What with the three or four field hands you’ve usually got warming your bed?”

  Aeli, gazing up at Rias, apparently did not hear.

  “Thank you. We will remember your offer.” Rias stepped closer to Tikaya.

  “Tikaya?” A blank expression formed on Aeli’s face. “And you?” She looked back and forth between the two of them, then shook her head. “Are you sure?”

  “You needn’t sound so shocked,” Tikaya said drily.

  “What happened to Parkonis?” Aeli asked. “I heard he’s alive and back on the island.”

  So, the assassin had kept his word and let Parkonis go free. The news was a relief, but at the same time, the potential for complications made Tikaya groan. Yosis, standing silently by the lanai railing, withdrew his notebook again and wrote in it.

  “Not that I wouldn’t choose this fellow over Parkonis too.” Aeli patted Rias on the arm—somehow she’d made the space between them disappear again. “If you get bored with Tikaya, come see me. She’s not very experienced or imaginative. Or fun. You know what her problem is? She—”

  “Really needs to introduce Rias to Mother now,” Tikaya said, hoping to head Aeli off before she could start listing character deficiencies. “But this chat has been lovely. We’re all caught up already, and it’s as if I never left. Bye now.”

  “When you spoke fondly of your family, I was expecting people who love and support you,” Rias said as they moved toward the front door.

  “Aeli does, in her own condescending way,” Tikaya said.

  “Truly? She seems like someone who would have stolen all your boyfriends in school.”

  “No, my boyfriends—the scant number that there were—weren’t up to her standards. Maybe I should be flattered she’s ogling you.”

  Rias paused to admire carvings sprawled across the house’s double front doors. The intricate engravings showed Tikaya’s ancestors arriving in the harbor, rowing away from a colony ship and toward the beach. She pushed open one door. A great room opened up with enough rattan chairs and couches to seat the extended family and guests. Two ceiling fans swirled the air overhead. Clatters echoed from a hallway at the back of the spacious room.

  “Mother?” Tikaya called.

  The clatters stilled. “Tikaya?”

  The sound of sandals slapping the hardwood floor came first, then Mother appeared and raced across the great room at full speed.

  A plump woman, she jiggled as she ran, and though Tikaya stood a half foot taller, she braced herself for the impact. The hug was welcome, though, and Tikaya buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Tears dampened her cheek, and she wasn’t sure if they were hers or Mother’s. They held each other for a long moment.

  “Honey,” Mother murmured, “we’ve been so scared. We didn’t hear anything for weeks and weeks, and we thought...” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Then last night, we got a message from Parkonis—Dear Akahe, his mother is going to carve him like scrimshaw for letting everyone believe he was dead—and he said...” Her head rotated toward Rias. “Yes,” she said quietly, “that’s what he said.”

  Tikaya braced herself again, this time mentally. “Mother, this is Rias. Rias, my mother, Mela. That fellow lurking in the doorway is Rias’s new keeper, Professor Yosis.”

  “Ma’am.” Rias bowed, not a truncated bending but a full arm-sweeping-away-from-where-a-sword-usually-hung warrior-caste bow.

  “Rias?” Mom said. “That’s not the name we got.”

  “Formerly Admiral Sashka Federias Starcrest,” Rias said, leaving out the “Lord” that went with the official title. Maybe he thought the Kyattese would find the notion of lords pretentious. “My exile means I’ve had my right to the last name taken. I never cared much for the first on account of, ah, boyhood teasing. I started using Federias in school, and friends shortened it to Rias.”

  Tikaya smiled slightly at the mention of teasing. While he had his share of Turgonian arrogance, and he had no missing confidence when it came to battle and barking orders at men, he had a shy, almost awkward side which she found endearing. She hoped her mother would too.

  “And do former admirals not wear shirts?” Mother finally asked.

  Rias offered a sheepish shrug.

  To distract her from his unkempt state, Tikaya explained the situation in the pumping house.

  “I’ll check on your father shortly,” Mother said. “Come, I want to look at you.” She held Tikaya at arm’s length and hm’ed and ahem’ed while surveying. “You’re well? You’ve lost weight. All skin and bones. We’ll have to put some extra pork on the spit. For both of you. Come, big man, we’ll see if we can find a shirt that fits you. Or at least that you won’t rip trying to put on.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rias said.

  Tikaya wondered when the last time was Fleet Admiral Starcrest had been mothered by someone. It didn’t sound like he minded.

  “At least he’s polite,” Mother said. “But dear...” She bent her head close to Tikaya’s as they headed toward the hallway. “What are you doing with him? Is it just that he’s bringing you home? Or... Well, Parkonis said you two are... that he might have...”

  “I love him,” Tikaya said.

  “Oh.” Mother stopped at the entrance of the hallway. “Oh, dear. Are you sure?” She smiled at Rias, who had stopped a few paces back, then whispered to Tikaya, “He doesn’t seem your kind of fellow, honey. Parkonis—”

  “He is, Mother. My kind of fellow. You’ll see. You just have to talk to him. Give him a chance.”

  At least her mother was more concerned about Rias’s suitability as a match rather than his reputation.

  A thump came from the end of the hallway, the sound of a screen door closing. Two men with bows walked inside. The first was her c
ousin, Elloil, but the second she did not recognize. He had the small build, brown skin, and almond eyes of a Nurian, and Tikaya tensed immediately.

  The stranger spotted Rias and jerked his bow up. He shouted a battle cry.

  Rias dove to the floor, taking Tikaya and Mother with him. An arrow loosed, whizzing over their heads.

  A startled shout came from the great room. Yosis.

  Rias leaped to his feet and launched himself at the Nurian. He ripped the bow free and flung it down the hall. The Nurian whipped out a knife. The two men hit the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  A shoulder rammed Elloil, and he stumbled, going down with a surprised grunt. The knife flew several feet, skidding on the floor and striking the baseboard. After a flurry of limbs Tikaya struggled to follow, Rias found the upper hand and straddled the Nurian, pinning him.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Tikaya called, not sure who the Nurian was but figuring he was on friendly terms with the family.

  Rias clutched his head and pitched sideways.

  “Not again.” Tikaya spun on Yosis. “Let him defend himself.”

  “I’ll not watch him kill a man,” Yosis barked.

  The meaty thud of a fist striking flesh drew Tikaya’s attention back to the battling men. The Nurian was taking advantage of Rias’s incapacitation. He picked up the knife and lifted it above his head.

  Tikaya bowled into the stranger. Hard sinewy muscles lay beneath his loose island shirt, but her momentum and greater height helped, and she ripped him off Rias. Her elbow clunked the wall hard enough to send a painful jolt through her, but she batted the knife away. It clattered to the floor.

  “Stop!” Mother yelled and rang a bell.

  It might have only been the dinner bell, but it startled everyone to stillness. The Nurian glowered at Rias, but Tikaya was halfway sitting on the man and did not help as he tried to squirm free.

  “Find peace.” Mom crossed her arms over her bosom.

  Rias sat up, the pain apparently removed, though he groaned and closed his eyes as he let his head thump back against the wall.